


Guava and Honey

by sadhouse



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Ooops, Ooopss, POV Second Person, Please Forgive me, Song fic, They’re just eating breakfast together while fitz Thinks Really Hard, Trans Character, Trans Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt, extremely ooc, fitzroy sounds like a serial killer, i meant it to be endearing but it sounds so terrifying, idk it’s got classical music in it, is guava and honey a common snack???, jesus fuck this is so bad, like I eat that all the time but I’ve never met anyone who even knows what a guava is???, nooo, oh no, ohh no, song fic?????, trans Argo, uh oh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:07:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29403855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadhouse/pseuds/sadhouse
Summary: You’ve been trying to expand your diet lately, I’ve noticed.Guava isn’t technically a citrus fruit, but it’s still high in vitamin C.
Relationships: Argo Keene & Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt, Argo Keene/Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt
Kudos: 4





	Guava and Honey

**Author's Note:**

> Christ alive i didn’t mean for fitzroy to sound as murdery as he does, but I guess that’s why people don’t write in the second person

You’ve been trying to expand your diet lately, I’ve noticed. Guava isn’t technically a citrus fruit, but it’s still high in vitamin c. I remember you telling me that while I was pretending to ignore you this morning. I had a strange dream last night, one that- for some reason- spurred me into checking on you the second I woke up. I remember when we used to share a dorm room, and you were to most fitful sleeper. But you’re quiet now, hanging delicately from the hammock you’d strung in front of your window. I sigh, wondering why I couldn’t remember whatever the dream was. I spent the rest of the morning trying to remember, leaving me tiered and irritable during breakfast. You brought me and the firbolg our food -French toast and an assortment of berries- just like you do every morning, and now you’re eating your own meal, sitting on the window sill as a song filters in.

“The Marriage Of Fígaro” you say, studying what i assume to be the school’s band practicing in the common grounds. “I recall it bein’ played at this festival...” you continue on some story about a short visit to an island, somewhere in the northern sea. I listen to your voice, but not your words as you roll the memory off your lips. My eyes drift to your ever open shirt, resting on the golden locket on your chest.

Your chest -your scars- always exposed, daring someone to ask of their origin. I’ve always been envious of your pride, how dumb and reckless you stumble through life. You share everything so openly, yet I feel like I know nothing about you. But maybe I’m being hypocritical. How much do you really know about me? You don’t even know that we share the same scars, do you? All I lack is your... audacity. Which I mean in the sense that you are so bold in your love for yourself, that you don’t care if someone knows everything of who you are. They cannot weaponize your secrets if you don’t treat them like- like audacious things.

Everyone knows everything about you, yet I want to know more. I know I’m not entitled to your secrets, and I don’t want to be. I want you to give your secrets to me of your own validation, and I want to do the same to you. Laid bare in ways more intimate than physical, I want to know you better than I know myself. And I want you to love me in ways that I cannot love myself.

“Fitz!” You shout, from your face I can tell it’s been a multitude of times. “Earth to Fitz! You with us bud?”

“Yes- what’s up?” I ask, taking a sip from my morning tea to distract myself from the fact I just spent the last 5 minutes staring at your chest and daydreaming about falling in love with you.

“I said when are ya gonna give me my handkerchief back?” You smile, you sharpened canines on display. You’ve always been able to soften things like that. Something that could be considered a threat from anyone else, easily becomes a form of endearment, just because it came from you. A sharpened dagger to my throat could be seen as a playful joke if it’s your fingers around the hilt.

“Later.” I say, retrieving the red cloth from my pocket. I said I wanted borrowed it to clean my glasses, and I did, but I may have also had an ulterior motive.

You give your secrets away like candy, but I’ve noticed that you’re a bit more stingy with your possessions. To ask for and receive an old red cloth is nothing, but somehow you give it meaning simply by being the handkerchief’s owner. I wanted proof that you trusted me with something as integral to you as the handkerchief around your neck. I want to hold onto this momentum for as long as you allow, please... let me hold it just a while longer. “Rainier and I are going for a walk in the commons later today, and it always ruins my lenses.”

I leave the cloth on the table.  Take it it whispers. You own this cloth, you can take it back whenever you want, and you know that. To let me continue to have it is a show of trust only you could have concocted. Baring your neck to me, sure that I won’t bite. “Alright.” You say, returning your attention to your fruit. The band outside finishes their second run though of The Marriage Of Fígaro and you perk up, only to lean out the window dangerously.

“What a spectacular show!” You shout to the band. “Absolutely wonderful!”

You are immediately chastised by Director Bello, and I watch as you shrink in your perch with a nervous smile. You sneak away from the window just as the director focuses his anger back at his band. “It was good! Sorry ta’ him that I enjoy good music, heh” you chuckle, dipping another guava into your plate of honey.

“Dinner-“ I said, the word jumping from my mouth before it’s context. “I’ll return it- your handkerchief- I’ll give it to you at dinner.” I mumble, shoving a soggy triangle of French toast into my mouth in an attempt to silence myself. You perk up for the second time this morning, your tail swaying as you settle yourself onto our shared table. You’ve always had the habit of sitting on things that aren’t meant to be chairs, smiling down on the rest of us with decent manners like the cat who caught the canary.

“Alright lad, but make sure ta’ keep it all in one piece. What should I bring for dinner ‘eh?” You ask, chomping down on the soft yellow fruit.

“I was thinking,” I say, knowingly about to make a terrible mistake. “Mayhaps we could see ourselves in a restaurant this time? I’ve heard of a new place in Hope that you would appreciate.” I plan on you saying no. You’d say that you’re busy in the way that people who are too afraid to say no say their busy, and I’d say it was a joke. I wouldn’t say it was a joke I made up because I missed you and wanted your attention. I’d just say it was a joke.

“Oh sure!” You bark in your gleeful way, nearly surprising the tea out of my mouth. I swallow the last of the drink and look at up at you. “I’ve been meaning ta’ get ta’ know you better, Fitz, dinner sound great!”

I practically spit out my last bite of toast as you chirp out your answer. I suppose I forgot that you were a lunatic. The kind of man who’d say anything, even something as insane as the bald truth, to get what he wants. And yet, I take a bit comfort in the fact that what you want is to get to know me better.

“Wonderful.” I say, standing from the table. I finally look at you at eye level as you straighten a bit from your friendly slouch to do the same to me.

You share everything so easily, yet there’s a darkness in your eyes, a secret you’d never share. What about you could be so wicked that even you would keep it hidden?

“I’ll be dressed at 7, should we meet in the commons about then and set off to Hope.” I say, making up a plan I wish I had made before incase you agreed. I take my plate and the small basket that the firbolg left behind, moving towards the door in hopes that I could catch someone on their way to put their dishes away and convince them to carry mine for me.

“I’ll be there.” You grin, taking another guava and moving back to the window sill. Your tail sways against the rock as the band starts again, a different song this time, but one you seem to know just as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t- dont fucking look at me. I am to be missing and assumed dead from this point on


End file.
